Order From Chaos
by MaybeItsJustMyType
Summary: Darthsydious prompted me: Molly trying to look her best early on in her and sherlock's relationship. One day she's not her best. Home, oversized pj shirt, mismatched socks, glasses, the works, and Sherlock can't keep his eyes off her. I went off on a tangent and ended up doing my version of the soulmate trope; where government calculates your assigned match..


_**This is for the darling Darthsydious, as you know I went off on a tangent but that's the spirit of the prompt I offer now, they're like a box of chocolates.. You never know what you'll get..**_

* * *

 _o0o There were missing lines in this because I tried to make them pretty with stars and FF swallowed them.. Mychakk pointed it out but they're there now so do not fear to tread! o0o_

* * *

Mycroft sat cradling his head in his hands, swiping his face, he let out a long suffering sigh. Picking up his whiskey he took a sip. Worry for his brother plagued his mind, he'd let himself get caught in the web of this dominatrix causing so much trouble and he knew it wouldn't end well for him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alana approach.

Her voice came softly, "Boss? I may have an idea."

A rare emotion cast shadows on his face, despair. He turned watery eyes to her, raising his eyebrows he asked without much hope, "Hmm?"

Placing a manila folder on the desk, Alana sat down. She folded her arms and leaned back looking as though she'd just given him a great and elaborate gift.

Flipping the cover back he noted the contents without much interest. A photograph of a young woman; slender, pixie like features and a waterfall of brown hair scraped back. He scanned the additional information noted along the margin; thirty two, pathologist, youngest ever registrar at Barts, current head of the department.

Eyes gleaming in the glow of the light cast by the lamp, Alana leaned over the desk, "I've already calculated, a perfect match."

Mycroft looked up, for the first time ever he found himself lost for words. Finally he asked in disbelief, "Sherlock has an assignment?"

* * *

Twisting her pillow in a ball and stuffing it under neck, Molly huffed, she couldn't get comfortable, as long as her mind and heart were knotted she would be unable to relax.

Meena sighed, "So you got your assignment" The statement was weighted.

"Yeah," her voice was hollow, echoing her lost hope.

The letter had come and with it an unpleasant sort of man carrying an umbrella that he seemed to have some sort of unhealthy infatuation with. Her psych rotation had been short but she knew a talisman of sorts when she saw it. For someone so regal and cold to be blatantly carrying around a Linus blanket. Well she had to wonder what sort of man the brother would be.

He turned out to be like no one she'd ever met before or since.

"He's taken me to the zoo and on a double decker bus ride, I think he picked up a copy of 'London for Under Five's.'" Her voice was gloomy, though with a hard edge of hysteria. It may have been funny if this was a book or a film, rather than her life.

"Well, it sounds like he's trying!" Meena offered, injecting her words with false cheer. Silence. Trying again she offered, "I googled him after you texted me, he's proper clever!"

"He's _beautiful_ Meena," she sobbed, "He's fit and so intelligent he's burning, but he treats _me_ like I'm a child! He hasn't even bothered to ask me what I do! The one area the _great_ _detective_ may have found me interesting." Tears clumped her lashes before ceding to gravity slowly, casting weary tracks, her sadness having rendered them sluggish.

Outraged Meena asked, "Why don't you tell him? Actually, why hasn't he noticed? What about this whole science of deduction rubbish? Is it all bosh?"

She barked a mirthless laugh, "He'd have to _look_ at me to deduce me. I've tried to look pretty for him but he's out of my league, he's barely glanced at me." Molly's sobbing was becoming more apparent, she was out so far out of her emotional depth and it _hurt_.

"Oh Molls, I'm so sorry," Meena's voice had slipped down a gear, feeling both sympathy for her friend and disbelief that this could happen; assignments were supposed to have cured heart break.

When she'd met her assignment Kirk, they both felt like they'd come home after a long and difficult journey, all the clichés applied; the missing puzzle piece, they clicked, they'd been made for each other. The intensity of emotion was shared equally between them.

Poor Molly had been locked out in cold snow at midnight. Meena's heart was breaking for her gentle friend, of all the people for the system to let down, _Surely it wasn't hard to match such an extraordinarily sweet human being?_

They'd saddled her with an overly dramatic, rude, self-proclaimed sociopath and former drug addict. Well, if you could believe the papers and his partner; Dr. John Watson's blog. "Oh hon, I wish I could be there."

"I think my assignment is wrong!" Molly cried out, anguished.

"Not very likely hon, 94.8% accuracy." She paused before reluctantly adding, "You _could_ appeal?"

Making a sound somewhere between a giggle and a hiccup she retorted, " _Right_ , I'll be the third ever and it turned out so well for the first two."

"The third we know of, government officials change documents for their kin all the time," Meena supplied darkly, "His brother works in government…" She left the sentence hanging in the air.

"Oh Meena, hush, you and your theories, honestly." Molly couldn't help but laugh.

Taking her amusement at face value, Meena sighed in relief. Laughing was a good sign, Molly would be okay.

* * *

Rolling his eyes and sighing theatrically, Sherlock answered his brother's question, boredom dripping from his words, "I haven't deduced a single thing about her Mycroft. I highly doubt there's anything worth discovering about her anyway. She is insipid, like a child, her clothes are garish and she _giggles_ , her manner is weak, timid." He waved his hand as though demonstrating how easily she was dismissed from his mind.

Tugging the lapels of his waist coat to right an imaginary mussed seam and tilting his head to and fro in a simple stretch, "Hmm," Mycroft muttered noncommittally. "And where are you taking Miss Hooper?" His manner was smug, amused by his brother's woes.

Scowling and jiggling a leg relentlessly to show his impatience, "Mycroft, honestly, when is this foolishness going to end? You've given special dispensations for people not to marry their assigned before, why won't you do it for me?"

Glaring pointedly at the offending jiggling leg he shook his head, if anything his discomfort with the table wobbling only served to act as an encouragement for his little brother to continue. Gritting his teeth he reminded him, "Three months Sherlock, that was the deal, no deducing her and you court _properly_ for three months. If at _the end_ of that period you still do not want to be wed, I will fix it; I already have a new candidate in mind." He cocked his head, "You will of course, owe me a favour, brother mine," he smirked.

"Of course," he inclined his head, he'd expected no less. "I'm taking her for a picnic, just the kind of romantic drivel she'll love." His expression indicating that he was above such things.

Tapping his lips with a finger, Mycroft pondered, he knew the big reveal would have to happen and soon. In the end as it happened, fate intervened and Sherlock found out in the day to day course of a case that there was a lot more to Molly Hooper than meets the eye.

* * *

Sherlock buzzed the door bell and stood back, clasping his hands behind his back he plastered a smile on his face and stood inert. He'd been coming here for two and a half months, his time was nearly up. He'd played Mycroft's game, stuck to the rules, he was tired of it, he didn't have time for this.

Molly opened the door slowly, he noted with approval that she looked pretty; she was dressed in an apricot coloured, sheath dress, her hair was down around her shoulders and she wore flats. She smiled and mumbled a hello, her smile stopped short of her eyes.

 _Well, there was nothing to be done about that; soon enough she'd be assigned someone who actually wanted marriage and she'd be far happier for it._

Her voice was low, missing its usual cheer when she asked where they were going, she ducked her head as though looking at him was painful. He couldn't help but notice how her pupils still dilated whenever she looked at him, although she'd looked at him less and less lately.

He held his arm out to her and she reluctantly took it, "I thought we could pick up some bread and feed the ducks?" Her silence was deafening, he felt cold, he'd never meant to hurt her. At first he'd thought her just like any every other idiot in the world but he'd come to realise that she was quite simply the most humane and gentle human being he'd ever met.

He had moments, when he'd allow himself to imagine a life with her; Mycroft had assured him that the calculations for the match were accurate. He'd soon shaken those thoughts. She couldn't handle his lifestyle, all the death and pain that surrounded him, he lived on the fringes while she lived squarely in the middle.

She was better off. He'd taken a peek at her match's file, the man whom she would be paired with in two short weeks was named Tom. Though the calculated percentage for their union was significantly lower than his own with her, he'd simply put that down to error; 94.8% accuracy was not 100% after all. The calculations obviously left his more illicit dealings out.

Tom was an ordinary man, he had a dog, he barracked for his local cricket team, he was close with his family, he went to the pub on Friday nights. He was ordinary, exactly what she needed. He wished her well, he especially wished Tom well. Because if he ever hurt her, he'd be answering to Sherlock Holmes.

Molly was quiet, she couldn't have possibly have known that he wasn't planning to go through with the arrangement. It was seldom ever done, the law was the law, and yet her sadness spoke volumes. He had given his word not to deduce her and he had refrained, but he had no need for his skill set to determine that she was in love with him.

When he received a phone call and had to leave to identify a body she had also received a call. Apparently she was also needed at work; one of her students must have dropped a beaker or some such nonsense. He had promised Mycroft he wouldn't deduce but he knew she taught students and was in the sciences, probably something fluffy like dermatology.

* * *

Making her way out of the park, Molly moved slowly, she felt chilled, the summer sun beating down on her did nothing to ease the cold in her bones. Her assignment had rejected her, he obviously planned to call it off.

Meena and her crazy theories were right, his disinterest was clear, there had been moments when he'd look at her in a lingering way with a smile tugging one corner of his lips up in an insanely sexy way and she'd wondered. But now he was pulling away from what little closeness he had formerly allowed.

To reject his assignment, he must find her truly repulsive. She was a fool, she had let herself fall in love with him, she knew from the start that he had little regard for her but as they were assigned she'd had no choice but to hope that he would grow to love her eventually.

She flagged a cab and hurried home to change her clothes in preparation to go to the mortuary. The body of a woman had been flagged high profile and needed to be identified urgently, the woman was not assigned, she was fringe.

* * *

Hearing the doors open and the squeak of leather on the floor Molly started speaking immediately, aware of the time sensitive nature. Her voice was pitched low to show respect for the dead. "Ah, the face is a bit, sort of bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult."

A sharply hissed intake of breath made her look up. Sherlock stood before her, eyes flicking rapidly over her, taking everything in, his expression showing nothing. Mycroft Holmes stood next to him, emotionless, unchanged from her first meeting with him.

"That's her isn't it?" Mycroft asked Sherlock.

Gesturing to the body, Sherlock demanded, "Show me the rest?" His expression gave nothing of his thoughts away.

Nodding, Molly peeled the sheet back to show him the perfect woman lying underneath, she swallowed hard. Tears pricked her eyes, threatening to humiliate her but she wouldn't give in to them. She understood now, he hadn't ever planned on going through with his assignment.

He'd been having an affair with this woman, she'd googled her out of interest while she waited for the ID to take place. Irene Adler - if she was who they believed her to be. An important woman judging from the way her body was being dealt with.

Her professional name was The Woman, - Molly couldn't wrap her head around the ego required to call yourself _The Woman -_ she was a dominatrix. Ostensibly such things were unnecessary now, in the time of the assignments. The accuracy rate of your perfect spouse being selected for you was calculated at 94.8%. This was assumed to render the need for services such as those this woman provided to be obsolete.

Somehow reality never quite seemed to match up with the perfect 'Order from Chaos' the assignments had promised. It wasn't illegal to provide or participate in such activities but it was frowned upon. Theoretically if you were inclined towards such things you would be matched with someone willing and able to fulfil those fantasies.

Molly peeled the sheet back and watched him sweeping his eyes over the body. His face wore a mask of indifference but she knew he was shaken. She cast her eyes down, thereby missing the forlorn smile he gave her before he turned on his heel and walked away.

Unshed tears still shimmered along her lashes, quivering with each breath, Molly looked up at his elder brother. She was certain she would be re-assigned now, there was nothing to lose. She forced her lips to frame the question, "Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from… _not her face?"_ Left unsaid was the real question, the one burning into her heart; _Who is she to him, when I am nothing?_

If you'd asked her before today, based on their meeting if this man had a heart beating in his chest she would have answered that while it's not technically possible to live without one, his must surely be plastic. Now, the look of understanding, of _sympathy_ , at her heart break ripped her chest open. He understood and he was sorry.

She reached out to stop him as he left, he looked down at his forearm and then back up at her face, shocked beyond measure at the contact. Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed and, gathered her courage and asked him, "Please? Tell him I'm so very sorry for his loss, if he needs anything, anything at all he can have me, no. I-"

The click of the mortuary door alerted them both that Sherlock had heard her offer.

Mycroft sighed, his brother was a damned fool. He nodded, then turned and followed his idiotic sibling.

* * *

Molly slept fitfully that night, dreams plagued her. The Woman, reanimated, laughing and pouting at Sherlock; with Sherlock. In the dreams he looked at her the way Molly had so desperately wished he would look at her; like she counted, like she _mattered_ to him.

She woke with a headache, her heart throbbed to a dreadful beat in her chest. She was a pale shadow of herself, a cloud of misery encompassed her. She hadn't had any news about her assignment but surely it would happen soon. A thought came unbidden and unwelcome, _Now that he'd lost his paramour would he go through with the assignment?_ She had no desire to be a consolation prize.

She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, feeling around for socks. The notion rolled around in her mind, much the same way you roll a boiled sweet over your tongue, round and round, wearing it down.

Molly's fingers finally encountered two socks and she pulled them onto her feet. Too weary to care that one was a bed sock, dotted with a rainbow of coloured bubbles and the other was a white and pink gym sock.

Pulling an old pyjama shirt of her dad's out of her drawer along with some sweat pants and deciding to forgo a bra, she made her way out into the kitchen in search of some much needed coffee. She snagged her glasses on the way to the kitchen and jammed them on over her nose unceremoniously. The idea of putting her lenses in turned her stomach.

Sherlock plagued her thoughts, she was utterly and irrevocably in love with him, the assignment - well, from her point of view - had been a complete success. So why did _he_ remain so untouched? So _untouchable?_ She had no idea what to do; she supposed there was nothing she could do. He was her assignment and she was in love with him, as she was meant to be.

Although she suspected that he would put in some sort of appeal or have his brother fix things he had not yet done it so she must continue to court with him in the traditional way.

In light of that decision she decided she would shower and dress and stop this foolish self-pitying. Her father would have been ashamed, wallowing in sadness when her assignment had just had his heart broken. Regardless of her pain, her duty was to care for him.

The doorbell buzzed, long and hard; Sherlock's style. Frowning she went to the door, she pulled it open to see him standing in the hallway looking immaculate. Molly closed her eyes briefly, embarrassed. Helpfully her brain flashed The Woman's face, conjured from the web pages she had visited. Vermillion splashed her cheeks.

Wordlessly she stepped aside and held an arm out. Sherlock took a deep breath, flexing his hands before he slipped past her. They were both silent when they sat down on the couch.

Molly moved to get up and Sherlock held a hand out to stop her. Molly looked at his hand and then at his face. His eyes were fixed upon her. Molly swallowed, her voice a croak when she offered, "Coffee?"

Frowning, his eyes searched her face, seemingly unable to find what he was looking for he nodded and let her arm go. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other, his eyes never left her.

Eager to be away from his inscrutable gaze, she hurried to the kitchen, wanting at least to garner a little time for herself before facing him again. Taking a deep breath she held her hands out to assess the shaking. In an echo of his movements at the door she scrunched her hands into fists several times before releasing them.

She couldn't stall any longer, setting the coffee things on a tray she carried them out to him and sat them down. Once Molly had poured their coffee she waved a hand at herself. Her intention to dress was clear, made urgent by her mingled feelings of embarrassment and shame.

His eyes burned, the weight of his stare a heavy mantle. He leaned in toward her and breathed her name, the sound almost worshipful. Molly's eyes crossed paths with his again and she looked down, uncertain. "Sherlock? You're _staring_ , I…let me dress, I wasn't expecting you." Her voice was like a child's, begging, _pleading_ for permission. Her heart jack-hammered in her chest, she couldn't breathe, his gaze sucked the air right out of her lungs.

Regarding her silently, he tilted his head, time passed slowly, finally he broke his silence, "I'm sorry Molly, I'm so sorry." His eyes were wet and implored her to forgive him, his voice sounded broken.

"Sherlock? It's fine, I-I'll just get dressed," she laughed feebly, desperate to lighten the mood. "Surely I don't look so hideous that you…" Molly trailed off. Sherlock barely seemed to have blinked, his eyes were filled with her. She covered her mouth, temporarily rendered mute.

"Why did you say.." He broke off, he held his hands out palm up, a supplicating gesture. To signal _what_? Molly looked at him afraid, she had no idea where he was going with this but the emotions in the room cascaded over her, threatening to sweep her away.

Closing his eyes as if _her_ presence was making his thoughts scatter and drift, he lapsed into silence. Molly shook her head, _Don't attribute your own feelings to him_. She took a breath, rushed to fill the silence, to offer him a way out. "Your brother can fix my assignment?" What he needed would hurt but she would not fight it.

His eyes snapped open, his expression was horrified. His shoulders slumped, he nodded as if in agreement and then made to get up. He stopped and turned to her, steel flashing in his eyes, "Why did you say that I could have you?" His eyes roamed over her features, he appeared flummoxed by her behaviour. "You offered condolences for The Woman."

Molly swallowed, holding his gaze unsteadily, she offered, "You can't help who you love."

His voice was robotic, "She was a case. She caught my interest. She was not my lover." He paused and looked down at his hands. When he spoke again his voice was strained, "You thought she was, and yet you still…" He took a breath, "Can I still _have_ you?" He met her eyes again, hopeful.

Time stopped. Frozen, she struggled to parse what he had meant. Taking her hand, his eyes caressed her face. Her heart galloped in her chest, confusion making her unable to process. She looked at him, eyes wild, chest heaving. Tears slipped down her cheeks, " _Me_? But I don't count."

"You do count." His expression was raw. "I need.." He trailed off.

"What do you need?" Molly's heart felt like it was bursting wide open, her eyes shone with tears.

"You." His eyes shimmered with tears even as they bored into hers, the air was

alive with potential.

Swallowing hard, Molly nodded, "I've been yours the whole time."

Wonder and awe lit his face, "You're beautiful Molly Hooper, body and soul. How did I get so lucky?"

Hiccupping out something combining a laugh and a sob out she answered him, "The luck is all mine."

Moving slowly as though afraid he may spook her, he reached out a hand and palmed her cheek. She leaned into it and a starburst of love bloomed in his heart. "I was blind. I'm the man who sees everything. How did I miss what was right in front of my face? I thought you couldn't cope with the horror of death and decay."

Molly giggled, "My nickname was Morbid Molly at Uni." She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, "Meena said something once… Maybe she was right. Why didn't you deduce me?"

Comprehension dawned in his eyes, nodding he answered, "My meddling brother made me promise not to deduce in return for.." He broke off and looked down in shame. His hand fell away and he clasped his own together.

"In return for switching my assignment?" She nodded along, indicating she'd thought as much.

"Yes," his voice was barely a whisper. "I was wrong. I owe my brother a thank you." His lips curved up and he added, "Maybe I'll send him a cake."

Frowning, she asked, "Cake?"

"I'd rather discuss when we're going to have our first kiss Miss Hooper." His eyes were twinkling, not with tears, but with a sense of mischief and expectation.

Eyes sparkling with an answering joy she laughed, "I need to dress, I look a mess."

"You're perfect Molly Hooper." He breathed, closing the distance, his eyes immersed in hers. He cradled her skull in his hands, his touch gentle. Molly had never felt so cherished, she became a priceless work of art when he held her. His mouth upon hers tasted sweet, like summer afternoons from her childhood.

An image appeared on her eyelids, scrolling like a projector against a screen as his mouth moved against hers.

Her father and herself, aged nine, walking along at dusk through Thorpe Park. The taste of candy floss still sweet on her tongue, warm breezes ruffling her clothes and rippling her hair. She'd been begging for " _Just one last ride on the roller coaster before we go home, come on Dad_."

Smiling indulgently her father had said yes and she had squealed with excitement, dragging him along by his hand. He'd laughed too, "You do so love the highs and the lows Molly mine," he'd told her.

Sherlock pulled back and looked at her, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Where did you go?"

"I was remembering.." Her brow furrowed, how to explain such a memory at this time? She was struggling to understand its significance herself, the only things the two moments had in common was her absolutely and unqualified happiness. _Oh._

 _"_ I'm thinking of the last time I was this happy; the happiest I've ever felt."

Sherlock's face was motionless, he looked like someone had hit pause. Molly stared at him, beginning to wonder if he had a medical condition she was unaware of. "Sherlock?" Her voice was gentle, careful.

He seemed to come walking back into consciousness as though coming through a fog, "The happiest? With me? I make you feel happy?" The question came out jerkily, his disbelief and awe at such an unfathomable notion clear.

Molly smiled at him, "You're my happy ending."

He smiled and then groaned, "Mycroft is really going to hold this over me, he'll be intolerable, even more so than he already is." His face took on a gloomy cast.

"Isn't it worth it?" She asked shyly.

Genuine joy in his smile answered this, tugging on her hand he pulled her toward him, intending to kiss her again. Leaning his forehead against her own he murmured, "Oh yes, it certainly is, my love."

* * *

 ** _Hope you guys enjoyed this, especially you Sydney! And if you've got a tumblr, come and join in the fun! I'm sweet-sweet-escape_**


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